


Anniversary Ink

by Nomanono



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: #nsfwyurioweek, Collars, Knifeplay, M/M, Marking, Mild Blood, Tattoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 17:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12063840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanono/pseuds/Nomanono
Summary: It's been almost a year since Yuri was collared. Now he wants a more permanent mark of Otabek's ownership.





	Anniversary Ink

**Author's Note:**

> I teased it on tumblr, so here's the story behind Yuri's OTHER marks for Otabek. <3 This takes place in the [ADKOC](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9124666) timeline. 
> 
> This is for #nsfwyurioweek Day 2! Theme: Biting / Marking
> 
> Special thanks to verity and Sintina for the ink advice and beta.

Yuri lay face down, his head cradled in one of those padded loops he only ever associated with Otabek’s massage table. It smelled like alcohol and something chemical and the musky spiced leather scent that followed Otabek like a cloud.

A needle was making its way in and out of Yuri’s skin. 

He grit his teeth, hand tightening around Otabek’s, and Otabek set his fingertips on Yuri’s collar. 

“Does it hurt like you thought?” Otabek asked. 

“Yeah,” Yuri said. “It’s good. How does it look?” 

“Perfect.” 

— 

It was a year after Yuri’s collaring. 

Well - almost. 

Worlds was in two weeks, and Yuri wanted to do something to celebrate their anniversary. He’d been thinking about it for a long time. He wore his collar constantly, removing it only for security when traveling. He put it back on immediately, but it still bothered him that he could take it off. 

He wanted something permanent. Irremovable. A forever mark to honor his master. 

“I want to get a tattoo,” he’d said. 

Otabek had been around JJ for more than one new tattoo, and gave his angry ballerina a curious look. He couldn’t picture Yuri with something like JJ’s armband or tramp stamp.

Yuri dispelled that idea immediately, lifting up his hair, showing Otabek where he wanted it, and telling him what.

A single circle, just like his collar, but this one he’d never take off.

— 

He’d been nervous at the parlor. It didn’t manifest as shaking fingers or anxious foot taps, but rather how closely he stayed to Otabek, nearly touching at all times, lingering in Otabek’s personal space. 

Otabek knew how to read his boy, cupped Yuri’s hips in his hands and pulled Yuri in for a hug. He rocked the boy while they waited, though Yuri grumbled about it into his shoulder. He talked nonsense about his quad flip and Victor changing his jump composition and all sorts of things that weren’t what he really cared about. 

“Yuri?”

They both looked up. “Right this way.” 

— 

They’d agreed not to tell Victor or Yuuri, though Yuri almost let it slip the night they finally found their tattoo artist. He’d come back incredibly hard and Otabek needed to sleep, so Yuri had dropped himself into Yuuri’s lap and pressed his body close. 

“Can I have you?” Yuri asked, playing with the hair at the back of Yuuri’s neck. “Please?” 

Yuuri was in the middle of one of his Japanese dramas, but he hugged Yuri tight and then hooked his fingers into his pants, pushing them down. 

He kept watching his show while Yuri went to town behind him. When Yuuri asked, at the end, “What got you so riled up, Tiger?” he’d opened his mouth to say “We found our tattoo artist” and barely managed to warp it into “We found our ta - our toy. One of the toys I wanted.”

“Oh… well where is it?” Yuuri blinked in confusion, sitting up and wiping his ass with a tissue. “Did you want to play with it?”

Yuri turned bright red, kissed his boyfriend. 

“No, you felt perfect, thank you; I should go to bed - I love you!” 

— 

“Mm, Otchka… hurts,” Yuri groaned. 

Otabek knelt down so his lips were next to Yuri’s ear. His fingers soothed through Yuri’s hair.

“Good,” Otabek whispered. “You’re hurting for me, aren’t you?”

Yuri wanted to nod, but his neck had to stay perfectly still. 

“Yeah,” Yuri said. “I want — I want you to hurt me after this. With your knife. However you want. You can bleed me.”

“You’re already bleeding a bit.”

“I want you to do it.”

—

Yuri was high on endorphins when they left the tattoo parlor. He hung on Otabek, all but dripping off his master. When he went to pay, Otabek put out his hand and opened his wallet instead. 

“For my boy,” Otabek murmured, kissing Yuri’s hair, and Yuri could only smile, adoring and exhausted.

He nearly fell asleep on Otabek’s back riding home, and when they made it Otabek offered to carry him for how tired he looked. 

“Welcome home!” their partners called from the other half of the apartment.

“We need a quiet night,” Otabek said. “We’ve got a surprise for you tomorrow.”

Which of course only made Victor hoot in anticipation.

“Have fun, you two,” Yuuri murmured as he closed the partitioning door.

— 

“Otchka… the knife…” Yuri mumbled as Otabek tucked him into bed. 

“You’re too tired,” Otabek said. 

“Mmm, no… I want it - to bleed for you,” Yuri said. “Please? Mark me?”

“Kitten…” Otabek sighed, but Yuri’s eyes were a force of nature, a siren Otabek could never withstand. “Alright. Let me get ready.”

When he came back he had his knife and a wet washcloth and that smell of alcohol was in the air again. 

“Sit up, kitten,” Otabek said, cuddling Yuri into his arms. Yuri situated himself, murmuring his adoration. Otabek inspected his knife one last time, then held it towards Yuri. “Kiss the blade.” 

Yuri obeyed, lips touching the cold metal. 

“If I cut you where I want, you won’t be able to fuck Yuuri for awhile,” Otabek said, and Yuri’s cock jumped in his briefs, because that could only mean one thing. 

“It’s okay,” Yuri said. “If I need him, I’ll let him have me.” 

“Good boy,” Otabek kissed his hair, mindful of the bandage.

Yuri pushed his briefs down until he was naked save for a loose T-shirt. It hung off his shoulders, lazily gorgeous and Otabek none the wiser. 

“Open your legs,” Otabek said, free hand pulling Yuri’s thigh to the side. Otabek tapped the flat of his blade against Yuri’s inner thigh, then against his cock. It hardened fully in only a few seconds, faster than Otabek would have thought possible.

“Hold very still,” Otabek warned, his hand wrapping around Yuri’s cock, pulling it down out of the way. “How much do you want to bleed?”

“… I want you to write your name on my stomach with it.”

Otabek took a breath to steady himself, growling: “ _Tiger._ ”

The noise Yuri made with the first cut was faint and breathy, an innocent gasp at the sudden piercing pain. When Otabek pulled the knife away there was only a drop of blood, but Yuri held up his shirt, exposing his rigid abs. Otabek swiped his thumb through the dark red bead and made the first arc of the O. 

The cut was just above the shaft, in the soft triangle of Yuri’s pubis, and the next two were similarly placed, making a dotted line around the top half of Yuri’s cock. 

“Deeper,” Yuri whispered, because Otabek had only gotten to the vertical line of the T. 

“There are too many things I might cut here; they have to stay shallow,” Otabek said. At least his anatomy lessons for PT had come in handy. 

“My thighs…” 

“Even worse,” Otabek said. “Here. I can go deeper closer to your abdomen…” 

He eased the very tip of the knife underneath Yuri’s lowest ab.

“Fuck - Ota - Otchka -“ Yuri cursed, arm coming up to hook around Otabek’s neck. He tensed on reflex, and the knife went a millimeter deeper before Otabek could withdraw it. The blood beaded and then started to drip down. 

Otabek used his first finger to catch it, switching his knife to his other hand so he could write (which was awkward, upside down, but he managed). He finished all but the last letter, and while Yuri was still flush and panting from the last cut, pushed above it to coax more blood from the wound. 

“There,” Otabek said.

“Take a picture,” Yuri whispered. Otabek set the knife down, laid Yuri out on the bed, and took a picture of his boy: Yuri bit the thumb of one hand, the other proudly holding up his shirt, showing his master’s name across his body. 

“It needs one more thing,” Otabek said, and he was touching Yuri’s cock before the sentence finished.

The next picture, Yuri’s cheeks were flush, his mouth hung open in need, the white of his cum freshly splattered across Otabek’s name. His hair was equally messy, and he looked the perfect part of a plaything, well fucked and entirely owned. 

“Beautiful,” Otabek said. “Should I send it?” 

“Only to our loves.”

— 

Yuuri was already asleep, but Victor, checking his messages bleary eyed, nudged him awake in wordless awe. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Yuuri exclaimed, a curse he usually reserved for the throes of passion.

“I thought that, too,” Victor said, and he tugged down Yuuri’s underwear to get inside him.

— 

“Time for your bandage to come off,” Otabek said, when the all the cuts were cleaned and dressed and Yuri deposited safely back beneath the covers. Otabek peeled the medical tape up and lifted the bandage away. The black ink formed a perfect, glossy circle. Otabek used a small bowl of water and the sample soap packet they’d received from the parlor, washing away whatever bodily juices had accumulated over the hours. As he dabbed it dry, Yuri asked him:

“Do you know what it means?”

“It’s a ring, like your collar, to mark that you’re owned,” Otabek said, rubbing a dab of aquaphor over the ink. “A ring you can never take off.”

Yuri smiled, sleepy and dazzled. He twisted so he could see Otabek’s eyes. 

“It’s an ‘O’, for my Otchka.”


End file.
